On Sunday morning, I woke up with a pounding headache and the sound of an unknown man's heavy breathing at my back. Without opening my eyes, I probed my brain's memory archives in a desperate attempt to recover some concrete data about my previous evening. Blue Screen. Panic. After a few failed attempts at soliciting divine intervention, I resigned myself to the situation at hand and rolled over in bed. There, lying on his side in red, white and blue striped pajamas was forty-sixth and current Vice President Richard Bruce (but I just call him Dick) Cheney.
Slight exaggeration? Granted. But doesn't it sometimes feel like the government has intruded into the privacy of your home and, more alarmingly, your bedroom?
What has become clear over the past seven years is that this administration has an almost obsessive preoccupation with marriage. In a context of war, economic crisis and growing political disenchantment, our George W. still doesn't hesitate to divert time and energy to the cause of regulating our most personal relationships.
This administration has long held up good, solid marriages as bulwarks against all things nasty in the world — as bastions of morality, civility and honor. And that's why the week of October 12 through 18 was so special for dear Georgie when, in 2003, he inaugurated the fist ever "Marriage Protection Week," designed "to support the institution of marriage by helping couples build successful marriages and be good parents," all in an effort to ensure "the continued strength of our society." What's wrong? Forgot to mark it on your calendars?
To me, this kind of rhetoric seems inherently backwards. At a time when "traditional marriage" is becoming extinct and the structure of the family is in constant flux, I find it disturbing to hear an elected representative equate the strength of my family unit to the fate of this country. I think my parents have got a good thing going, but do I believe for a minute that their continued commitment to each other can help the U.S., say, track down Bin Laden? Do I think my grandmother's loyalty to my grandfather will somehow restore faith in the democratic process or raise the country's international standing to "tolerable," or stop sneaky Mexicans from slithering over the border?
Still, I'm not completely cold to the idea of marriage. And really, I kind of like the idea of settling down … eventually. My problem is that I'm not wholly satisfied with the institution as it's presented to me.
My first point is that, clearly, marriage today ain't what it used to be. Gone are the days of quiet courtship, short engagements and puffy-sleeved bridesmaid attire. This is the era of sexy, designer wedding gowns, swinging bachelor parties, bridezillas and through-the-roof divorce rates. [Although I'm still apt to see the glass as half full. I'm personally shocked that 50 percent of married couples manage to stick it out for the long haul!] By the time many of us marry, we'll probably have been co-habiting with our significant other for a few years. Marriage will be a cruel anti-climax, our honeymoons a disappointing recreation of Spring Break '08. I have a lucid image of me, lying in a dark hotel room on my wedding night, looking up at the ceiling and asking … "Now what?" Because let's be frank — for many of us, not much we do that night is going to be new.
Even the idea of seeking out a potential spouse propels me into a spiral of mad panic. I don't even have the attention span to sit down and write 900 words in one sitting. How can I possibly share my life with a single individual "till death do us part?" And still, I can't get away from talking about the topic. It doesn't matter that I don't plan on tying the knot for a decade or so; it seems that the ever-looming prospect of marriage is forever sending Cornell students into a tizzy. Admit it — you talk about all the time! From the sound of it, I should be evaluating every date night as a potential thesis topic to qualify me for honors in my MRS degree.
But beyond pressing fears of impending disappointment, I have a larger case to make. Namely, I'm still not sure I feel comfortable associating with an institution that, to many, personifies continued discrimination and prejudice. In other words, until all homosexual men and women can enjoy the right to marry, I'm not sure that it's fair for heterosexuals, myself included, to do so.
George Bush has consistently affirmed his belief that marriage is defined as a union between man and woman. But branding opponents as "anti-family" paints the "gay agenda" as inherently threatening. That kind of language is unproductive and just plain wrong.
Furthermore, it seems to me that the Bush & Co. argument has an inherent contradiction. Here's a little of my own math. Problem 1: Bush wants to strengthen the institution of Marriage. Problem 2: Divorce rates are escalating among heterosexual couples. Solution: Allow those individuals who are desperately seeking access to the said endangered institution to GET MARRIED.
Mr. President, let's use some big boy logic. George, you don't have to marry a man. You don't even have to like gay people. But regulating access to marriage based on your own religious affiliation is an extreme abuse of presidential power.
Sure, my promise is less bold in light of the fact that my native land already recognizes gay unions [that's one up for you, Canada]. But until I'm convinced I'm signing up for an institution I wholeheartedly believe in, I think I'd feel strange rushing to the altar.
Still, I can't help but imagine my ideal marriage ceremony with a twinge of longing. Part of me still hopes that one day I will truly walk down the aisle of an Elvis-themed Vegas wedding chapel to the tune of "Hound Dog" while my parents, clad in complimentary blue suede shoes, look on proudly before sending me off to my honeymoon night in the all-inclusive "Heartbreak Hotel." But don't worry. Before it happens, this government's got some growing up to do.
Katie Engelhart is a senior editor at The Sun. Don't Kill the Messenger appears alternate Tuesdays